——— 
ive AMERICAN 
FEBRUARY, 1895. No. 2. 
VOL. 
iS] 
ur 
ANGLER: 

BUACK BASS FISHING, IN: THE 
BI GanaWae 
During the month of September, 
1894, all things seemed coming my 
way. My annual outing, scheduled to 
beoim October 10, promised’ to be the 
most enjoyable and successful one of 
many years. ‘The weather was perfect, 
with every prospect of its continuing to 
remain on its good behavior for the 
next month or six weeks. Friends 
with whom I[ had crossed lines on the 
clear waters of the beautiful Tippecanoe, 
in the years gone by, had promised to 
come and renew old friendships, and 
once more drink their fill of the sport 
and pleasures of eight and ten years 
ago. Other friends were pleasantly 
employed putting their tackle in shape 
to measure their skill and cunning with 
the bronzebackers of these, to them, un- 
ted waters ; “a thine ‘of’ beauty,” 
in the shape of a new six-foot red cedar 
rod, with agate guide and tip, the cre- 
ation of my leisure moments of the past 
summer, lay snugly inits case, waiting 
to display its graceful curves and 
strong backbone in the battle with a 
five-pounder, and but one more trip of 
two weeks.stood between me and the 
sport to be gotten out of a three weeks’ 
outing in quest of the wary small- 
mouth bass of the historical Tippecanoe 
TIPPECANOE—AN OFF SEASON. 
GRIFFIN. 
river of middle and northern Indiana. 
During this trip of two weeks, busi- 
ness took me to Atlanta, Ga., where I met 
‘Young - Man - Afraid - of - the - Water,”’ 
my companion in the outing for trout 
in the Blue Ridge mountains the previ- 
ous June, in company with whom, and 
three other gentlemen, I rode out: to 
one of Atlanta’s fashionable driving 
parks. Arriving at the park we arranged 
ourselves about a table on the verandah 
of the club-house, preliminary to a 
lunch and a social chat. 
I do not know what it is, whether 
the law of the land, the custom handed 
down from father to son, or whether 
due to some occult ingredient in the at- 
mosphere pervading this country, but 
this much I do know: we had no sooner 
surrounded the table, than there appeared 
an attaché of the club-house in the per- 
son of an obsequious negro, who looked 
as though he had been standing there 
for ages in anticipation of our arrival, 
with a broad grin covering his black 
features, which plainly said, ‘‘Gemmen, 
I is yours to command and to tip, but 
whatever else you may omit, do not 
forget my tip,” and ‘‘ Young-Man- 
Afraid-of-the-Water”’ straightway com- 
manded a liquid preparation of rye, 
